Wyndham,
Well I’ve done it this time. I woke this morning to find the Endurance firmly stuck in the pack ice. If no leads open soon we’ll simply have to wait the winter out and hope she holds. I know it’s shameful of me to stay locked up in my quarters surfing the Web while the men do all the work, but I can’t help myself. Have you seen the binnacles on this Jennifer Love Hewitt wench? Reminds of a girl I used to fancy at that detestable little hole you took me to in Wapping. Madam S___’s was it?
Thunderstruck,
ES
Windy,
Very distressful day. I found a member of the ship’s company in a compromising position with one of the dogs (Sheila). I reprimanded him in private so as not to embarrass him in front of the men. Do you suppose I did the right thing?
Cheers,
ES
BTW, the Gladiator DVD is bloody marvelous!
Windy,
Sorry I haven’t written. Wild keeps pestering me about his E-Trade account and Hurley prattles endlessly about Premier League Football. We didn’t have time for such nonsense when I was cutting my teeth with the North Western Shipping Company. Sometimes I feel as if I’m trapped in a giant pram, going from baby to baby to ensure they haven’t soiled themselves. Why, Windy, didn’t I listen to you when you urged me to take a job with a packet company and spend my days in peace and comfort ferrying bluebloods to Le Havre?
Best,
ES
Windy,
I’ve been e-mailing an intellectual property lawyer in New York and he feels our correspondence could compromise my plan to publish the greatest adventure saga of all time. He says that any premature publication of my letters could be very damaging. I’ve assured him you would never do such thing, but you know how these Yankees are. Do be a good chap and delete these messages after you’ve had a chance to read them over and reflect on their extraordinary literary merit.
Ernest
Windy,
I suppose you’re quite cross with me. I don’t know what I was thinking. Please forgive me. Of course you needn’t delete this rubbish. Last night while I was pacing the foredeck, the incessant baying of the dogs bewitching accompaniment to the southern lights, I had a brilliant idea. I want you to organize an Internet chat for me on Yahoo or possibly Salon. It might go a long way toward keeping me in the public’s eye. I’m a celebrity, by Jove, and I need to act like one, even when all I feel up to is brewing a cup of Celestial Seasonings Captain’s Courageous Tea and listening to the new Coldplay CD on my Sony Discman. Do you think you could arrange something to that effect? In fact, you might even consider approaching Ms. Hewitt about this. A little star power might be just the thing! Do write back and tell me what you think.
Your friend,
Ernest
P.S. Would you be so kind as to forward my personal e-mail address at polarboyo@yahoo.com to Ms. Hewitt? That would be rather extraordinary of you.
ES
Windy,
Well whoever said you can’t teach an old dog new tricks never summered in the polar ice with British seamen. I’m afraid my randy sailor was at it again with Sheila last night. Quite disgraceful. It stirred me from a most remarkable dream. I was travelling alone across the ice with a fierce gale blowing at my back. I happened upon a cave and was greeted by a heavenly site: Ms Hewitt bedecked in a dazzling white seal-fur bikini. She commanded me to undress and we tantalized each other by rubbing hot blubber all over our bodies. Exquisite creature. Nipples like cleats on a bollard. Saucy, saucy wench, indeed!
You must think me rather filthy, Windy, but I can’t help myself. Aren’t I awful?
Yours,
Wicked, wicked Ernie
Wyndham,
I just received an e-mail from the Imperial Trans-Antarctic Expedition Help Desk and they have informed me that the server is fine. I can only interpret your silence as a condemnation of my character. Please know that my intentions toward Ms Hewitt are entirely admirable. I’m certain she will be to delighted to count a stalwart explorer and literary celebrity of my stature among her admirers. Let us put this petty squabble behind us.
Your old friend,
Ernest
Windy,
I must keep this brief. The Endurance is swamped and will go under soon. All nonessential items will be left here to be swallowed up by the ice. This includes, I’m afraid, my Apple Macintosh PowerBook G4/400 128Mb. Henceforth I will have to scratch my notes in a journal like a common wretch. This would upset me more if it were not for the all-too-real possibility I shall never return. I did not expect it to end like this, if the end indeed it be. Total disasterville.
Crushed,
Ernest